Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 94119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94119 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I hesitated for just a moment before I followed my heart and pressed my cheek to Jesse’s shoulder. It was soft and comforting and made me completely relax. I smiled as Ginger joined the bay mare he obviously saw as his companion in the paddock.
“You looked good without the headscarf, Junebug,” Jesse said.
Every part of me tensed, and I reached up to play with the tail of my scarf.
In the stretched-out silence, Jesse said, “You believe that, don’t you?”
I shifted when my eyes filled with tears, trying to quickly wipe them dry, but I knew Jesse had seen by the way he tried to move in closer. The truth was, I didn’t believe it. Over two years of treatment in, I couldn’t see it. My confidence had taken as much of a hit as my health.
“I…I struggle with how I look now,” I confessed, shock wrapping around me. I couldn’t believe I had admitted that to Jesse. I shook my head. I didn’t look at him. It was easier sharing these truths without meeting his face.
“I’ve never been a vain person, but…” I sighed heavily. “I can’t really explain it.”
“Junebug,” Jesse said, and pressed his cheek to my head. “I mean this with my entire heart: you are stunning.” My breathing grew shaky. Jesse’s cheek moved against my headscarf. “If anything, your headscarf hides it. You don’t need anything, not even hair, to be beautiful.”
I stared out at the paddock and my vision blurred. There was no lie in his steady voice. And it made me sad that I couldn’t see it in myself. My nerves skyrocketed as, reaching up to my head, I slowly pulled off the headscarf. The morning air kissed my bald head, and it took everything I had not to run back into my room and hide.
I lifted my head, and Jesse watched my every move. I dropped my eyes to my hand. It still felt like mine, but it was trembling.
“Stunning,” Jesse said, and gave me the sweetest smile.
I exhaled and felt something I didn’t expect—a sliver of happiness that I had just opened up to someone—no, not just someone. Jesse. And by the look on his face, I knew what he said was true. For some reason, he really did think I was beautiful.
“You look good too,” I said, fighting a blush. I slowly brought my hand up toward his head. “Can I?” I asked. Jesse leaned forward, giving silent permission, and I ran my fingertips along his scalp. It was smooth and silky under my touch. It was curious—I saw true beauty in Jesse that, for some reason, I couldn’t see in myself.
But I wanted to, more than anything.
“What color was your hair?” I asked, bringing my hand back to my side and resting my cheek against the cushioned back of the swing so I could meet Jesse’s eyes.
“Light brown,” he said, and I could picture it in my head.
“Long or short?”
“Longish,” he said, then smiled at me. “And it was curly.”
“Really?” I asked, wondering how curly. “Do you have a picture?”
Jesse pulled out his phone and searched through it. Finally, he turned the screen, and I was met with a smiling Jesse in his football uniform, loosely curled hair that was a few inches long, enough to give him that just rolled out of bed look. He was stunning in this picture, but… “You’re just a handsome without it,” I said, surprised by my own candor.
“Well, hair doth not maketh the man,” he said, and I giggled at his terrible attempt at an English accent.
“Look at Jesse Shakespeare here!” I teased, and Jesse lifted his hand and ran his thumb over my cheek. My breath paused, and I was pretty sure all the air around us did too.
“You like literature, Junebug. I thought I’d try and impress you and shoot my shot.” I swallowed back a spatter of nerves that danced inside of me, and then Jesse lifted his hand toward my head. “Can I?” he asked.
My anxiety slammed back into me.
Jesse must have seen it because he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Junebug. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
He lowered his hand, but I took hold of his wrist before he dropped it to his side.
His eyes were wide. “Honestly, June, I shouldn’t have asked—”
“Please,” I pushed out. “I…” I took a deep breath, centering myself the best I could. “I want you to.”
Carefully and tenderly, Jesse’s calloused fingertips ran over my bald scalp. Goose bumps broke out all over me, and I shivered at how strange it felt. Jesse’s hand paused. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his hand back.
“No, please don’t stop,” I said, surprising myself. “It just tickles.” I smiled and urged him continue by bringing his hand back to my head. “No one has touched my head before.”
“Do you have a picture of you before cancer?” he asked.